


Stiles Stilinski: Rescue Ranger

by ifeelflames



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Humor, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-17
Updated: 2013-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-29 15:16:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/688415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifeelflames/pseuds/ifeelflames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is the one who finds Derek in a slightly smoky, very dingy room. He’s strung up to the ceiling by his arms, his eyes screwed shut and his feet dangling in the air some way off the ground. Stiles can feel his heart accelerating over whether he’s too late, when Derek’s head raises slightly and his eyes open. He grits out, “Stiles,” and Stiles is beginning to think this guy just can’t die, not that that is a complaint. He can see blood on Derek’s chest and on the floor, but the wounds seem to have pretty much healed.</p>
<p>“Hey Derek,” he calls mock cheerfully, because what do you say to a guy who has probably been brutally tortured? “How’s it hanging?” he adds, not able to keep the goofy smirk of his face. He’s got to laugh, because the alternative is to freak the fuck out.</p>
<p>-----<br/>Alternatively titled: Stiles Climbs Derek Like A Tree, All In The Name Of Rescue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stiles Stilinski: Rescue Ranger

**Author's Note:**

> This was a drabble written for a Tumblr request meme that got a bit out of hand xD Unbeta-ed, so any mistakes are mine.
>
>> You can find me on Tumblr [here](http://ifeelflames.tumblr.com/)  
> 

Stiles is the one who finds Derek in a slightly smoky, very dingy room. He’s strung up to the ceiling by his arms, his eyes screwed shut and his feet dangling in the air some way off the ground. Stiles can feel his heart accelerating over whether he’s too late, when Derek’s head raises slightly and his eyes open. He grits out, “Stiles,” and Stiles is beginning to think this guy just can’t die, not that that is a complaint. He can see blood on Derek’s chest and on the floor, but the wounds seem to have pretty much healed.

“Hey Derek,” he calls mock cheerfully, because what do you say to a guy who has probably been brutally tortured? “How’s it hanging?” he adds, not able to keep the goofy smirk of his face. He’s got to laugh, because the alternative is to freak the fuck out.

“Shut up,” Derek rumbles and coughs, wincing slightly as he does so. “You need to get that wolfsbane out of here, now.”

So that’s where the smoke is coming from. Stiles nods and turns serious as his eyes search for the burning plant. He finds it in a dish about 3 foot to his left and quickly grabs it taking it to the entrance he used and throwing it from the room. He shuts the door on it, before searching for a window to let some fresh air in. He can see one up high, but there’s no cord to pull to open it. His eyes fall on a small pile of rubble up the corner and he grabs a brick, shifting the weight in his hands before taking a few steps back and throwing as hard as he can.

He misses, and despite everything Derek snorts.

Scowling, Stiles grabs another, and this time he hits his target, filthy glass smashing and falling to the ground as tendrils of fresh air begin creeping into the room. Thankfully Stiles is sure the warehouse is empty, so he doesn’t need to worry about the noise right now. He repeats this course of action with the other window too, and can feel a draught now. For a second he tells himself he has half a mind to just walk out of the room again and leave Derek hanging there and make him wait for Scott, now he knows he isn’t going to die from it.  _Like I ever could_. He sighs.

“Are you going to help me down?” Patience has never been one of Derek’s virtues.

Stiles turns back to Derek, apparently pondering that. “Gee, I don’t know about that.”

Derek struggles against his restraints in frustration. “Stiles!”

“Why don’t you get yourself down Sourwolf? Or are you saying you can’t, and that you need little old me to help your Alpha ass out,  _again_?” Stiles knows he’s being petulant, but Derek really brings it out in him. Derek brings a lot of things out in him, most of which he isn’t proud of. His tongue darts out to touch his bottom lip as he takes in the full sight before him. No, Stiles is definitely not proud of what he’s thinking right now, he can’t help but eye the muscles flexing in Derek’s chest and arms as he struggles slightly.  _It’s Derek’s fault for being so…_ he doesn’t allow himself to finish that thought.

“The shackles have been treated with wolfsbane, I can’t.”  Derek has been quiet for so long Stiles has almost forgotten he’d asked a question, but the discomfort in the other man’s voice is palpable, and Stiles knows he’ll help, whatever it takes, and that it is fruitless pretending otherwise.

“Right, OK, let’s do this then,” he moves over to Derek, his face roughly level with the other man’s knees, and realizes they have a problem. “I don’t suppose they left a ladder handy?” he asks, trying to keep his voice light, because he really can’t see a way of reaching the restraints without one. He slides his hand over the back of his own neck. “On a scale of one to ten how much are you wishing Scott had been the one to find you? Probably about the same amount  _I’m_  wishing Scott had been the one to find you…”

“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek sounds tired and sore and kind of furious all at the same time, and Stiles is trying to think of something, anything, when he speaks again, “Just, climb up me and undo them.”

Stiles lets out a squeak before he can stop himself, almost choking on it as he tries to swallow it down. “Just…climb onto…okay then…right, yeah…” he sucks on his bottom lip hard. “See I would, I  _totally_  would, but I’m really  _bad_  at climbing, terrible climber,” and oh god, there is no way he can do this. He knows what will happen if he gets himself in that proximity of a half naked, sweaty Derek; it’d be like signing his own death warrant. “I should phone Scott. Now there’s a champion climber right there!” He get’s his phone out and begins texting.

Derek lets out a huff of air and bites out, “Just.climb.Stiles.”

“We could wait for you to get over the smoke, maybe then you could break your own way out, let’s not be hasty here,” Stiles suggests hopefully.

“I can’t, and they won’t stay gone forever Stiles, I’ve sent them on a wild goose chase to find Scott, once they realize I was lying about where he is…” Derek’s jaw is set with frustration and his eyebrows are screaming ‘just get on with it’ in a way only Derek’s eyebrows can.

Stiles can see no way around this that doesn’t end in total humiliation and possible death-by-pissed-off werewolf. 

Since realizing his delicate  _situation_  when it comes to Derek, and the lack of self preservation his dick seems to have, Stiles has been doing his best to avoid being physically close to Derek at all costs. For the first time ever, he finds himself wishing the Kanima was here, because there’s nothing like a bit of Kanima venom to quell a hard on.

There have been a quite a few occasions recently when Stiles has been forced way closer to Derek Hale than he is comfortable with. In fact, it seems their entire relationship consists of fate forcing them together (which, by the way, is not fair if Stiles isn’t allowed to touch), but there has always been a pretty immanent risk of death which kind of ruins the moment and keeps Stiles’ hormones in check. No such luck right now though;  it’s just him in an abandoned warehouse, with a shackled, sweaty Derek. Great.

_For god’s sake just think unsexy thoughts,_ he mentally commands himself. Stiles sends a text to Scott to let him know that he’s found Derek at the second warehouse on their list of places to look.

“Right, climbing you it is then,” he swallows, before taking a few steps back and heading for Derek at a run, jumping into the air and locking his body around the guy’s legs.  _Here goes nothing._

Derek grunts on contact, both of them swinging in the air with the force of Stiles’ jump. Stiles opened his eyes, set his jaw, and began to inch his way up Derek’s legs.

Apparently this sort of thing is much easier in theory than practice, because Stiles is struggling and can feel himself sliding downwards. He climbs and slips a few times, before crossing his legs tighter behind Derek and, swallowing heavily, grabbing hold of Derek’s hips tightly to get some leverage and dragging himself up.

He can feel his heart thundering against his ribs, the tell tale bastard that it is, and tries not to think about it. He glances down, and the floor suddenly looks a lot further down than he remembered, he clings a little tighter.

Derek let’s out a disbelieving sound, “tell me you’re not afraid of heights?”

The truth is he isn’t really, but he decides that it might be in his best interest to pretend he is, as fear at least would help explain why his heart is racing and his palms are getting distinctly sweaty, so he plays along. “I wouldn’t go as far as to say afraid, a little un-trusting maybe yeah…”

He hears Derek huff out a breath that could almost be laughter, before all of a sudden the werewolf twists his body slightly and they’re swinging again.  _The bastard._

Stiles can feel himself slipping and digs his fingernails in, not caring if it hurts. He presses himself closer until they stop moving, only then does he realize he’s effectively just stuck his head into Derek’s crotch and  _ohmyfuckinggod_. “You bastard,” he manages to choke out against the fabric of Derek’s jeans. “You did that on purpose. Stop fucking moving!”

But Derek has stopped, he’s gone so unbelievably still, and Stiles can feel how tense he suddenly is.  On a scale of 1 being just peachy and 10 being the most awkward uncomfortable thing in the history of ever, right now Stiles feels they’re at about an 11, so he frantically begins scrambling upwards.  He tells himself upwards has to be better, because nothing can be more awkward than having his face in Derek’s groin, right?

Wrong apparently, so very wrong. Stiles is mentally kicking himself for ever starting this insanity. He pauses to catch his breath, his cheek pressed against Derek’s abs and damn if he doesn’t just want to lick _, just once_. The problem though, is that he’s sporting a semi-hard on and one more upwards shuffle is going to align it with Derek’s crotch. _Think of something totally boner destroying Stiles, anything will do. Coach, Greenberg, Coach_ and _Greenberg…_ That seems to be working, although it was a mental image he could have done without. Gritting his teeth he slides his hands up Derek’s sides trying, desperately not to think about the feel of sweat soaked skin beneath them, until he reaches Derek’s shoulders and can pull himself up.

If it wasn’t for the fact he can feel Derek’s heart beating against his face, he’d be beginning to wonder if the guy had dropped spontaneously dead on him, seeing as he hasn’t moved or made a sound in the last few minutes. It’s more than Stiles can bear, and so he begins to ramble. “So, what’s the plan once you’re free? Wreaking revenge or licking your wounds?” He pulls up again, trying to act like this is a totally normal conversation, and that he isn’t practically dry humping his way up the guy.

When he gets no reply, he chances a glance at Derek, their faces finally level. Derek is staring determined at the wall opposite, his jaw locked so tightly Stiles is surprised it hasn’t snapped.

“Dude, seriously, it’s rude to ignore the guy clambering all over you,” he informs him, and then wishes he hadn’t, because now Derek’s eyes are on him and the expression he sees there makes him shiver slightly. He’s doing that intense smoulder thing that makes it impossible to know exactly what emotion he’s feeling; just that he’s feeling _something_ very strongly. Eventually Derek raises one eyebrow pointedly before finally saying, “keep moving monkey boy,” his voice sounds off though.

Stiles scowls at him but grins slightly afterwards. He tries to reach for the restraints from his current position, but he knows it’s no good. He can’t even get his finger tips to them. “I’m going to have to get onto your shoulders,” is all he says, with more calm resolve than he actually has right now.

It takes some doing, and Derek growls when Stiles slips and grabs hold of his hair tightly to try and secure himself.

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Stiles mutters. “I’m not made for this kind of thing.” Finally he gets one leg over Derek’s shoulder and uses it to swing his other over too, his hands grabbing hold of Derek’s arms tightly. He’s puffing slightly, and takes a moment to get his breath back before moving towards the bindings.

Stiles has just about got himself together when a muffled breath leaves Derek, “You couldn’t have climbed up my back?”

Right, muffled, because now his abdomen is in Derek’s face, his crotch pressing against his chin and jaw.

“I…um…your back…I…I think it’s becoming blatantly clear I didn’t think this through properly before we started.” Stiles groans,  _why the hell didn’t I think of that, oh my god._ “Why didn’t you suggest that in the first place?”  Stiles challenges, attempting to pass the blame, he’s going for indignant but he hears the break in his voice because this is almost unbearable.

Derek’s breath is falling hot against the fabric of Stiles’ t-shirt, but he doesn’t say anything. Stiles feels him swallow, feels him swallow  _with his thighs_ , and it’s hopeless, he’s getting hard and there’s nothing he can do about it. So he does what he always does when he needs an out, he talks, because Stiles has learned that it’s the best way to distract people when you’re trying to hide something from them. “Besides Fido, that would have meant climbing ass to face, and I mean, that would have just been  _awkward_ ,” he’s blushing, he can feel his cheeks and neck have gone all hot, it catches him off guard when he feels Derek’s lips moving against the fabric of his t-shirt, he realizes that was an actual laugh Derek just gave.

Stifling a small moan, he begins to wrestle with the first manacle, unscrewing the bolt with vigorous determination before finally getting it free.

And there’s something else he didn’t think through, because now they’re plunging downwards as Derek swings from the one arm still secured and Stiles can feel himself falling and struggles frantically to get purchase again, but he can feel gravity pulling him down backwards.

He’s screwing his eyes shut and trying not to think about how far down the floor is and whether or not he’s about to crack his skull open when he feels a firm pressure on his back.

Derek has caught him with his free hand and Stiles lets out a small sound of relief, wrapping his arms tightly around the back of Derek’s head.

He hears an extremely muffled, somewhat angry, harrumph sound and then Derek’s hand is on the back of his neck gripping tightly and prising him off.  

“Ouch, OK OK, I’m gripping less tightly, I’m gripping less tightly, but may I remind you that you’re the one nice and secure and not going anywhere, and I’m the one likely to plunge to my death? So maybe you could cut me some slack?”

Derek lets out a put upon sigh, but Stiles is going to take that as a yes anyway.

“Alright, let’s just get this over with shall we?” Stiles clambers until he can reach the remaining manacle and gets to work. “You had better not drop me,” he mutters darkly, before it releases and gravity is dragging them downwards.

Stiles doesn’t get a reply, but he feels Derek’s arm wrap around his waist, pulling him closer as they drop, so he guesses Derek’s not going to let him plunge to his death despite all the previous awkwardness of this particular rescue.

He feels a jolt run though him as they absorb the shock of colliding with the concrete floor, but it’s not as bad as he was expecting because Derek hits it first, hissing slightly, rolling Stiles on top of him so he doesn’t end up with so much as a grazed elbow.

Stiles blinks down at him. “I er, thanks for that. Kind of thought you might use it as an excuse to expose me to head trauma in the hope of silencing me.”

Derek just raises an eyebrow at him, “Don’t make me regret my decision.”

“So how are you feeling big guy?” Stiles lets out a nervous little laugh, because really, he has no idea what to say. He shifts awkwardly where he lays, and he should really get off Derek now, right now. Only he needs to do it in a way that doesn’t involve sliding over him, because he doesn’t think his teenage libido can handle any more of that.

Derek is just looking at him, and Jesus, he’s probably wondering why the hell Stiles is still plastered all over him. Only then Stiles’ brain finally registers that Derek’s arm is still around him, the palm of his hand splayed against the base of Stiles’ back, which yeah, Stiles doesn’t really know what the hell that means, but he’s going to try not to think about it right now.

Only, not thinking about it stops working round about the time Derek decides to move, suddenly flipping them over so Stiles’ back is against the concrete floor and Derek is looming down over him, arms braced either side of his head.

And this, this is like a wet dream come to life if Stiles is totally honest, but it’s also kind of terrifying because he doesn’t have a clue what Derek is thinking, just that he looks  _intense_  to say the least. He could be about to rip his throat out for clambering all over him with a hard on, and that is most definitely  _not_ sexy, it’s just horrifying. He can feel his pulse hammering and his mouth is dry.

Stiles opens his mouth to question, but instead all that comes out is a pathetically breathy “Um, hi?”

Derek leans in closer for a fraction of a second, and shifts above him slightly, and Stiles freezes because, if he’s not very much mistaken, Derek is not only a dead weight pressing down on him, he’s also hard against his thigh. Which is breaking news that needs to be explored further  _right now_.

Stiles wets his lips and moves his head upwards a fraction, unsure what to do next, because the thought of attempting to kiss Derek when Derek might not want him to is not appealing and leads back to the throat ripping again. He can feel Derek’s breath against his lips though, and his fingers curl around the waistband of Derek’s trousers, mainly because he needs to hold onto something right now, and the rest of Derek is pretty much naked flesh from the waist up so…

Derek exhales sharply and all he says is, “Stiles,” which,  _Jesus fuck_ , that goes right to his groin and then Derek’s mouth is moving closer to his almost reluctantly, like Derek really doesn’t want it to but it’s happening anyway.

And then he stops,  his jaw clenching as he pulls back and rolls off Stiles, just as the door bursts open and Scott comes charging in and racing towards them, asking if they’re OK.

And all Stiles can think is worst fucking timing ever bro.

 


End file.
